Swan Lake
by rngrdead1
Summary: Xander has PTSD after rescuing one too many slayers. Spike is recovering (sort of) after the battle with W&H. Fate may have it they eventually find each other - she's funny that way.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Swan Lake Author: josie_h Archived at: . ?user=rngrdead Pairing: Xander/Spike Rating: Mature Audiences – for content and themes Summary: Xander has PTSD after rescuing one too many slayers. Spike is recovering (sort of) after the battle with W&H. Fate may have it they eventually find each other - she's funny that way.  
Spoilers: Sometime in early season five – or possibly late six BtVS. Warnings: M/M – if you don't like boys together, don't play here!  
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters nor make any money from stories etc, and bow down to their original creators Joss, et al., plus all the wonderful online writers who continue to give the Buffy/Angel verse characters life.

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New Story: Swan Lake

"It's Farah Litand. Is Mr Giles available please? It's… well… it's really kind of urgent."

The young slayer tapped her chewed pencil impatiently on the side of the small cracked Formica tabletop that was one of five in the tiny backstreet café in Algiers.

She was relieved when the phone made a clicking sound indicating her call had been taken.

"Giles speaking."

"Mr Giles, I… I think you need to have someone come here and… and um…"

In Esher, UK, Giles removed his glasses and in frustration ground out, "Oh do spit it out girl I'm…"  
"It's Xander, Mr Giles, it's my watcher Xander! He just won't come out of his room, won't even answer me. He's been weird all week, I found him crying on Sunday. He said it was just an old memory. We'd just dusted three vamps – no big deal, but there was a little girl with blonde hair, a tourist I think. She was drained already, nothing I could do.

"He picked her up and carried her back here and contacted her parents, just like normal but then he… well he was crying after and then after that just stared at the wall all day then…then he yelled at me when I said we should go patrol, kept saying something about a Zeppo and it going on and on and something about everyone dying, he said he just couldn't… couldn't stop it, couldn't stop me from dying and then went really quiet, just turned and locked himself in his room and now… Mr Giles, I'm scared he will do something or maybe already… Mr Giles?"

"Break the door down."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me girl. Kick it in. Make sure he's… Just make sure he's still… well, in there. Now"

"OK… I'll just… Just wait OK? I'll do it."

Giles heard the phone go quiet then an almighty crash in the background, followed by what sounded like a struggle. Finally the phone was picked up again, this time it was Xander's familiar voice though despite the words, the flat tone was less than reassuring.

"Hey G, I guess the Council is going to have to pay for the repairs this time, 'cause I didn't bring my tool kit."

Giles had seen it before, not necessarily whilst in his current role heading up the Council of Watchers, but he had a nephew who had recently served in Iraq returned to England for the very same reason. A brilliant field surgeon Nigel had arrived home reduced to a barely functioning human being, terrified if a helicopter flew over their home, and prone to fits of despair or rage for no apparent reason. His dear wife and he had finally agreed that professional help was needed. A year on he was doing better, but it was a slow process.

Xander had been on the 'front line' effectively for the past eight years. Post Sunnydale he'd apparently accepted his parents' death in the Sunnydale implosion with stoicism worthy of any Brit, claimed the insurance money and government disaster compensation due him and moved to Portland to work in construction.

A year later he had turned up at the Watchers' Council doors in England and volunteered his services, claiming that normal life wasn't for him. He'd been in the field, collecting new Slayers ever since.

Giles knew he needed to act, and quickly, but also aware that Xander would not appreciate a 'kid glove' approach.

"Xander, I need you to bring Ms Litand back to England with you. It's a matter of urgency. I will make the necessary calls to her parents and arrange your travel details. Can you be at the airport by tomorrow morning?"

"I thought you wanted me in Kenya after this one."

"I'll send Russell, he'll be thrilled to be deployed at last."

Expecting an argument, Giles was rather surprised by the resigned, quiet tone of the answer, "We'll be there. See you in a couple of days then. Email me the details."

"Indeed… and thank you Xander. See you shortly."

As soon as the phone cut out, Giles rang Andrew, "Yes arrange it immediately and blind copy me the Email if you will… And before you ask, yes it will be me that picks them up from Heathrow."

Xander was coming home.

The final battle with Wolfram and Hart's Los Angeles Branch brought it down with blast from Illyria but not before Angel was dusted and Gunn dead.

Illyria had been standing over a badly injured Spike when she threw the blast that not only knocked out Wolfram and Hart, but also somehow removed her from Earth's dimension.

Spike woke as the sun poked its head through the clouds, lighting the sky with pale reds and warm pinks.

He was too broken to move, so simply lay still, expecting to dust. He opened his working eye, the other too swollen to manage, and stared at the pink then blue above, hoping that someone would perhaps remember him, reflecting on his long life as the Sun's rays gradually crept closer.

It was an agonizing three hours later that the lady Sun finally broke through to the alley. In a blast of heat he felt the moment and closed his eyes, sending a last minute prayer that his Grandsire might have found peace and wishing his mother hers also.

But then… nothing happened.

There was no whooping for joy. He felt for a heartbeat, but none was present. He breathed, then found it was as unnecessary as ever, though broken ribs seemed to demand he… not.

He was aware enough to register a figure appearing in his peripheral vision, felt strong arms lifting him, then blissful black.

Part 2

Connor cradled the badly broken Spike to his chest, amazed that he was apparently not dust, given his body was in direct sunlight.

The young Aurelian had felt his father's passing, as had Spike, but also registered a familial tug that demanded he return to the blast location that was previously Wolfram and Hart L.A. Branch.

On arrival in the alley, he saw little beyond an enormous pile of rubble, a number of obviously dead individuals, puddles of ooze and a decent covering of dust across the vista. Then, just as he was about to retreat, he heard a faint, "Oh God."

Pushing aside large chunks of concrete and twisted metal stays, he eventually found his vampire 'brother'. Not dust, despite the sun falling on exposed legs and part of his back.

Connor felt for a pulse, having been versed with the Shanshu prophecy from birth.

There was none, which was odd. But then everything about his life was odd.

So, shrugging off obvious questions, he swallowed hard, shoved aside the detritus and lifted the limp and broken body of his only (un)living relative, then continued back to the main road where he hailed a cab. En route to the Good Samaritan he rang his temporary 'house mate', Matthias, the brother of one of his fellow Stanford buddies who agreed to put him up for a week or two after Connor made mention of some family crisis in L.A.

The instructions to the cab driver were brisk and urgent, the good natured cab driver assuming Connor to be a do-gooder university friend simply collecting a mate after a too heavy night on the booze.

With some juggling of the inert vampire's form he managed to let himself in to his shared apartment just off the main road near the Good Samaritan and contacted Matthias again, this time the young resident doctor answered, who was just finishing up his shift at Mount Saini Hospital.

"Hey man, can you um… I've kind of got a situation here… It's kind of urgent."

Matthias had heard about some of Connor's 'situations' from his brother, and sighed audibly before answering, "OK, who is she and do I have to…"

Connor settled Spike on the rather lumpy couch in the front room whilst juggling the phone and cut Matthias off, "Just listen. I need a few bags of human blood. I'm happy to pay."

"Jeez Connor! What's…"

"I'll pay for it! And before you ask? No, it's not for me! It's a… well… It's for my… half brother I guess. He's been badly hurt and I…"

"So call 911 man! Or do you want me to?" Matthias was beyond tired after a shift of eleven hours and really didn't feel 'the love'.

"I can't. You'll understand when you get home… Can you do it? The blood? Like I said.. I'll pay!"

Matthias gave a heavy sigh. He was used to dealing with some pretty odd requests but this was well and truly outside 'the box'.

In the two weeks Connor had been staying he had been utterly focused on his studies, and spoke lovingly of his sisters and parents, though recently had opened up that he had discovered he was adopted and made contact with his birth father here in L.A. If this was indeed a birth brother in need of blood then there must be something seriously wrong.

"Fine. No problem. As long as you're sure? F #k Connor? Why don't you just bring him in here?"

"Trust me Matt, you'll understand when you get here… Just?"

"I'll be out of here in ten. And you owe me OK?"

The quiet response was all he needed to confirm that Connor was serious.

Matthias divested himself of his 'scrubs' twenty minutes later, having ordered up three bags of 'O-pos' at the end of his shift (feeling like the most ungainly felon). No-one called him on it as he hailed a taxi and took the quickest way home.

Xander was aware he was heading home, handed over his passport, answered all the questions asked of him at the border check and customs, and sat in his seat dispassionately as the plane took off.

It was as always. He had collected tens of… hundreds of girls… slayers… in the past just like this… it was no different this time… collect deliver and then back out to find another. But this was different… this was the end of a too long journey. Something within him had broken, he knew that, and yet could not feel … that was the kicker, he couldn't feel… there was nothing left to feel…

Like a robot, going through a program, he was answering questions then directed to collect his bags and push through the line on the green direction, "Nothing to declare."

There was plenty to 'declare', like "Oh by the way I've just watched twenty three individuals die", or "Do you know what a dying individual smells like?", or "How do you kill a Groxlar beast after it has just killed the young slayer you were charged with counseling?"

None seemed appropriate, so Xander stayed silent.

Giles, true to his word, collected Farah and Xander as they exited the 'Green Line' at Heathrow.

The drive back to the Watchers' Council buildings was disturbingly silent, Farah unwilling to make commentary or ask questions.  
_

Matthias arrived home with the promised bounty of blood.

He had expected, well he wasn't sure what… but the physician quickly took over.

Connor was more pragmatic.

"Matti… Oh! Thank the Gods you're home!"

Matthias was almost jetlagged due to the starting time and length of his shift, but immediately snapped out of his stupor as he took in the broken figure on their shared couch.

"F #k! Connor! We should be…"

"NO!"

"But…."

"Matt, just trust me on this one. O.K.? Feel for a pulse and then I'll… Well I'll kind of, try to explain."

Some hour and a half later Matt had managed to reset Spike's various broken bones, feed him the purchased blood (with difficulty) and witnessed Connor opening his own wrist to feed the individual that was currently mending on their couch.

Matthias had finally given in to sleep, not really believing anything he had witnessed, rather putting it down to sleep depravation, and would no doubt sort itself out in the morning.

Spike was in a haze.

He was aware his body had been lifted and moved. He knew that technically he should be dust. He knew, on a visceral level, that Angel had dusted. He *thought* he had felt the sun on his legs and back. He had felt himself lfted, then travel then the agony of bones being pulled straight and realigned. He knew he'd been fed, recently, and human, which made no sense!

And there were just too many… there was too much 'blessed black'

Spike struggled to consciousness in a sunlit lounge room.

Several things were immediately apparent. He was alive (well 'undead'). His breaks and wounds had been treated. He had been fed... obviously, and he was lying in a direct sunlight with someone staring down at him.

Injuries notwithstanding he made an effort to at least thank someone before he was dust.

"Hmmph… Guess this is.. whatever… hmmph jus… thanks Pet… thanks."

Connor held on to the broken figure and whispered rather brokenly, "He pretty much said goodbye to me."

With a voice scratchy due to injury, Spike ground out, " I felt him pass too… I'm sorr… n' thank y…"

Unable to finish before the darkness took him, in his last conscious moments Spike hoped Connor understood.

Connor laid Spike on his own bed, initially lending his own heat to the inert figure, and woke to a sobbing, muttering Spike.

"Kill me too… Just… Sire is dead… Kill me too please… I should be dead! Everyone is dead… Me too… just take me… I can't… no more… I just…"

Connor did the only thing he could think of, he grabbed a blade from his desk and sliced his wrist diagonally, shoved his arm against the form of the thrashing lips of the only living vampire family he had left, and hoped…Account

Part 3

He had been back at HQ for almost a month. Everything seemed strangely normal.

If he was a little 'jumpy', no-one commented. Giles had done the usual debrief though this time the replies were by rote and delivered with none of the usual jovial commentary.

Xander's old apartment was there, and if he spent more time incommunicado, no one mentioned it, but those who knew him 'before' noticed, and Giles acted.

Giles and he had had a conversation regards Farah when he first came back, twice they had even cordially chatted about old times in Sunnydale, nothing unusual there, but Giles agreed with the intuitive Farah, there was something out of sorts, something definitely wrong.

Despite his natural instincts to intervene immediately, Giles was left waiting and watching as the boy, now man he saw as almost his son, Xander, slowly implode.

Giles had initially made it a point of 'checking in' daily with Xander, if only to set his own mind at rest, but after a month, deferred the task to John and Madeline, qualified clinical and post-trauma psychologists.

They had initially engaged Xander in conversations about his role as watcher, then his Sunnydale days, and finally about family, trying to glean his status as best as was possible in both formal and informal discussions but despite their efforts, and perhaps due to them, not knowing the Xander of Sunnydale, they came up with nothing unusual, though both recognized the signs of PTSD. They had dialogue with those who knew Xander prior to Algiers, all of whom described a jovial individual, infinitely dedicated and supportive of others, 'chatty and warm' individual. But none of that was evident now.

Now there was a quiet, rather morose individual who barely met their eyes when in discussion, and abjectly refused to discuss the deaths he had witnessed most recently. Stating simply, "Par for the course innit, as Spike used to say."

They had no idea who 'Spike' was, but the observations and evidence confirmed their diagnosis, PTSD. They both came to the same conclusion, psychiatric advice and treatment was desperately needed.  
It was 'Bank Holiday Weekend' and fearful of leaving Xander alone, Giles had suggested he stay at Giles' own family home in Oxford for the duration, with the premise that Giles would rather like the company, a suggestion Xander complied with, apparently without objection. The "I'll go wherever you send me", delivered with no evident emotion to his tone, worrying both Giles and the two attending counselors.

"I'll be leaving shortly. Perhaps you would like to gather your things from upstairs."

"Yeah, sure." Xander stood, stared into space for just a little too long then exited Giles' office.

Seconds later, John and Madeline were ushered in to give the Head of the Council their weekly report.

John removed his glasses and began to polish them, much in the manner of Giles himself when faced with breaking bad news to the Sunnydale crew of old.

"Mr Giles, Xander does seem to be doing a little better. He is showing an interest in local events and…"

Giles removed his own glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose in an act of frustration. "If you don't mind I would rather you were out with it man."

"Yes, indeed Sir. I fear this may be beyond our capacity to assist. Xander is most definitely suffering post traumatic stress, Sir. Both Madeline and I consider that he needs the services of a psychiatrist, indeed may need time in an appropriate facility."

"I see."

"We can recommend a private hospital…"

"Yes. Quite. And thank you. I will see to the arrangements as a matter of urgency. Do you consider that post weekend would be a possible timeframe?"

"I can't imagine it would hurt, but be aware that the longer Xander is allowed to languor in this state, the longer his recovery."

"I see. Thank you. If you could provide a few names and numbers to my secretary it would be most appreciated."

Giles stood and offered his hand to both attending physicians, took the proffered hand and shook it soundly.

Half an hour later, Giles pulled out of the parking bay at Council Headquarters and turned his BMW sports car, with its cargo of silent Sunnydale ex-resident toward the M1.

Xander woke suddenly.

The room was unfamiliar, though the snoring emanating from the bedroom next door confirmed he was ensconced at Giles' family home as promised.

His ears felt 'funny', but the light through the window indicated it was sometime past ten.

Padding down the cold hallway in his pajama bottoms, he found the loo, relieved himself, and returned to his bedroom to dress for the day.

Coffee… coffee was of the good. But apparently no one had thought to provide milk, so he garnered the keys from the fridge top and ventured to the front of the house, letting himself out with a stealth he thought he had lost years ago (read basement and drunken parents).

The local petrol station was only a mile or so away and had all the 'emergency' produce one could need.

He noted that he was shaking as the key went into ignition but thought nothing of it, but as a car pulled out and passed him, his ears seemed to augment the sound, then the shaking became worse, and his focus was blurry.

He slowed the car, but the shaking was getting worse and his hearing… it just wouldn't stop, and the shaking… and that buzzing was confusing… and his missing eye seemed to be sending sparks… and he couldn't breathe… he knew he had to breathe… but it wouldn't come!

He didn't dare stop the car, kept repeating "Just get home… Just get home" and at a snails pace directed the vehicle onto side streets and back routes, terrified he might see another vehicle. Finally pulling up to Giles' home he burst out of the vehicle, stumbled up the walkway and burst into the lounge room screaming at the top of his voice "Giles! Oh God! Giles! Please… Help me!"

Giles stumbled out of slumber in response to the ruckus and was faced with a hyperventilating, violently shaking Xander, sobbing on the floor.

He did the only thing he could think of, fell to the floor and pulled Xander into his lap, grabbing the violently shaking individual tight and repeating "Just breathe with me… Just breathe… breathe… breathe!"

Matthias took a time to come to terms with the revelations Connor had been forced to divulge regarding his very injured 'relative'.

Not the least of which was that the man he had been 'sharing with' was apparently 'super-powered', and vampires were real, and the guy on their couch was apparently close to one hundred and seventy years old – or possibly more?!

But to his credit, Matti pulled in some favors regards blood supply and seemed willing to monitor Spike's progress.

Connor was attentive to a fault. Both wrists bore constant bandages over the ensuing weeks and Spike healed.

It was late afternoon and Spike had been lifted and placed on an old lounge piece in direct sunlight when he came to consciousness.

Connor was in a chair opposite, reading when Spike finally surfaced and spoke.

"Figured I was dust… all things being considered."

"Spike!"

"Yeah… apparently that would be me. Still not very chipper, mind, but will give it me best anon."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Little brother if I'm not mistaken… though my taste buds may have lost a little in the translation. But push comes to shove, reckon there's some thanks needs to come your way... so thanks... for.. everything I guess."

Connor reached out and squeezed Spike's left deltoid gently.

"It's cool. I felt him pass too… I… I kind of need you to meet someone…"

"Friend of yours?"

"He kind of helped save you." 


	2. Chapter 2

Part 4

Spike smiled weakly at the ginger headed Matthias, "Right grateful then mate. Figure the lad here has filled you in on what I am, least as much as he knows."

Matthias smiled back then gave Connor a quizzical look, "Well some. You're his half brother to his birth father and have been working with Angel at Wolfram and Hart law firm for the past year or so. There was some sort of terrorist attack. Connor went back to look for his Dad but the emergency crews wouldn't let him near the place, then he found you in an alley practically dead. He rang me and brought you back here, though he didn't tell me the full story until we got back here, all I knew at the time was that you don't have insurance and I since I work in the ER anyway..."

Connor had the wherewithal to look a little guilty at that point and picked up the story, "Matti here has been looking after you, sewed up the worst of your wounds, set both your legs and left arm, brought enough blood for the first few days, and changed your drip…"

Spike's eyebrows went up at that and belatedly he realized that indeed he did have an IV line taped down on his lower right arm.

Connor gave Spike a small nod noting some confusion, "We couldn't get you to drink too well and Matti figured painkillers and well..."

"So I must have been pretty bad…"

"As close to really dead as it comes."

"How long since…?"

"Two weeks, and either I'm a great doc, or you have the best healing time on the planet, or both. Still Connor told me that it was kind of normal for your family." Matti grinned at that, "Now you're awake we can probably get rid of the IV in a day or two, see how you go. Anyway, I'll leave you two to catch up I guess. I'm… I'm sorry about your dad."

Spike felt a stabbing pain in his chest and tears instantly threatened, he still managed a quiet, "Yeah, thanks." Before Matti moved to his bedroom door and disappeared from view.

Spike moved slightly but the sun was clearly shining on his very pale forearm. The strange part was that there was heat to the rays, unlike the necrotinted windows at Wolfram and Hart which was strange, but when Connor stood and moved to apparently open the window, he pulled said appendage back immediately with a rather panicked, "Oi! Don't fancy frying!"

Connor simply smiled and said, "No necrotinting Spike. You seem to… well just trust me on this one." With that he pulled up the window and swept the blinds aside fully until the entire room and Spike's nude torso was in bright sunlight.

The look of wonder on his face was priceless, Connor grinning even wider.

He moved slowly, as if in a dream wiggling fingers and let his eye fall closed as he faced the sun directly. Suddenly Spike had no control over his emotions and did the only thing left to him… accepted the proferred from Connor and held fast to the strong male form beginning to cry in earnest. His distress was marked not by the quiet sobs of the upset adult, but rather the bone shaking cries of a lost child, screams of a bereft lover, the ultimate distress of parent losing a child… He didn't need to breathe but it seemed his body not only wanted to, but also struggled as his sobs alternated with attempts to speak to vale lost ones then tried to whoop large gasps of unnecessary air.

Connor simply held on…

After long minutes, he opened his eyes again, pulled away a little, cleared his throat and wiped his face roughly with the palm of his right hand causing the IV line to tug a little. When he looked at Connor again it was with true puzzlement and a not so small amount of embarrassment. "Sorry 'bout that. But… not human cause no heartbeat so far as I can tell, 'n can hear yours clear as a bell, so how?"

The young man sat down on the couch near Spike's splinted legs placing a gentle hand on the plaster, "I figure you're a day walker now, you know like in that movie Blade. I guess when Illyria went all postal it must have done something to you…" He shrugged and looked down at his hand on Spike's plaster. "She wasn't there when I found you, but I figured it must have been her that caused the blast."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense, she was standing over me is the last thing I remember. Came to for a moment or two but figured the bright light was just all part of it, never figured it for the sun proper. Passed out after that, 'n you know the rest." Spike stared thoughtfully at the younger Aurelian for a moment before continuing, "So why'd you…?"

"You're family Spike, and you fought the good fight along with Angel, our well… Sire, and I figure he loved you and would want me to keep you safe, plus you're the only one who really knows me now – you know the vampire part and that makes you important to me, really important."

Spike ducked his head, then looked up to stare into Connor's pale blue eyes and saw the truth of what the boy was saying, breaking into a shy smile, "Your Da loved you, was right proud as punch when he knew you were at Stanford. Yeah the ol' bugger was right proud." He couldn't continue past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat and he could see Connor struggling to hold back tears also.

They sat in silence for a long time after that, not quite sure what else to say, but sharing the grief was somehow comforting in itself as both remembered Angel's part in their turbulent and unusual existence.

Finally Spike yawned a little and Connor stood and stretched, "You need to rest some more. I guess I'll just go heat you some blood now that you're awake. You need some more pain killers too?"

"Nah, much as it hurts still I figure that's just the bits pullin' together, plus not all to keen on the floaty feelin' that comes with, and I'm sure you'd rather not I be sick on the bedding if I'm eating proper again." Connor screwed up his face a little at that and made for the door to the kitchenette in the small apartment, but paused when Spike asked, "We still in L.A. then? Last I heard Stanford was a good eight hours away."

"Yeah, I had to come here for one of my uni assignments – was supposed to be doing some hands on experience at Universal, looking at the changes they've made to their Studios, the financing and promoting that sort of thing. I kind of caught up with dad before the big showdown, and during. Saw him kill some tall guy in a flash suit – we kind of fought him together for a bit until dad worked out that he could drain him. He told me to go after that, so I ran. The building had started to shake really badly, I saw dad heading in the opposite direction. It was the last time I saw him." Connor's voice trailed off for a minute.

"When I found you, you know, after, Matti said I could extend my stay. I'll still have to do the study but that's OK, I've done all the research already. When you're up to it you can, well if you want to that is, you can come with me when I head back. I was going to move out of the frat house anyway 'cause there's just too many distractions, and I'm sure Mum and Dad will agree if I put it like that. I'm on scholarship so money's not such a big deal."

"Money won't be a problem pet, got my own stash from back in the day, haven't touched it in a long while, all safe 'n sound in good ol' neutral Schweiz. I'll pay my way so long as I'm welcome. No doubt Angel has some squirrelled away for you too."

The ensuing days saw the former vampire healing (at least on the surface), physically and emotionally. The casts came off and though he was still a bit shaky if he stood for too long, Spike doing what he did best, adapting and shifting his focus to the 'day at hand'.

As soon as he was able, he made himself useful. He cooked for Matthias and Connor, lay out in the sun on days that were warm, and even cleaned for the two boys. Anything that would take his mind away from his grief, the loss that when he allowed himself, had him on the floor of the kitchen holding his knees and crying like the bereft childe he truly was.

It was late Connor had retired to bed early, claiming the next day they had to do the drive back to Stanford and he wanted to be rested. Spike was reading and Matthias was bent over his computer at the main table, apparently focused on some article or other online.

He had become used to the presence of the quiet young man who was apparently a half brother to his friend Connor, though he was still a little unsure of why or how.

"What's the study?"

Matthias startled then turned to smile at their erstwhile 'houseboy'.

"Not sure it would interest you, but it's a history paper on the British Legal system, specifically looking at the history of the Queen's Counsel and rule changes applying to them over the twentieth century."

Spike took a seat opposite as he snorted an "Oh, general knowledge or hobby?"

"General knowledge actually, one of my patients is a retired lawyer. He was talking to me about how different our system is in the states versus UK. It just kind of… well I figured it would be nice to learn a bit more." He went back to his reading so very nearly missed the murmured, "Studied Law at Oxford back in the day."

Matthias looked up surprised, "You don't look…" He was about to say old enough but then remembered what Connor had told him about vampires being really old. "So that was what mid twentieth century or something?"

Spike laughed out loud at that, "Nah mate, finished me articles in '73."

"That still would have been interesting, all that flower power stuff and Vietnam…"

"1873 mate. Women still to get the vote n' all that."

Matthias' eyes went wide, "So you're what? One hundred and something?!"

"A hundred and fifty five at last count, turned vamp in 1880."

"I… Wow! All the changes you must've seen?! All the progress - just amazing!"

"Yeah, guess it's one of the perks. C'n be bloody frustratin' 'n lonely at times too, 'specially after Dru left."

When Matti simply sat and waited looking like he wanted to ask a million questions, Spike added, "C'mon mate, I know you want to ask sommit or other. Fire away an' I'll do me best at an answer or three."

They ended up talking until the early hours of the morning about all manner of things. Matthias drifted off to bed eventually with his head full of images of women in bustles, horse drawn carriages and lavish décor of Victorian England. He would be genuinely sad to farewell his guests and return to solo life, but was buoyed up a little when he learned that Spike (or William as he had established his human name to be) was quite web savvy and promised to reply to emails should Matthias be so inclined.

Giles wrapped Xander in a blanket as the terrified young man continued to shake violently despite being curled up in a fetal position on the lounge suite, hands over his ears to try to stop all noise input, and eye squeezed shut tight.

Giles kept Xander in plain sight as he reached for the phone and rang the number for an after hours visiting doctors' service. Twenty minutes later a young medic knocked on the door and Giles ushered him in.

"Is he on any medication already?"

"No."

"Are you allergic to anything Mr Harris?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Has this happened before, the panic I mean."

"Never. Not even in the middle of a fight, not even after I lost my eye."

"Well, I'll give you a light sedative for now, but you really would be best to see someone pretty much immediately."

"I… I've been seeing a couple of counselors since I came back, but…"

"I would recommend attending a psychiatrist, he or she can take it from there. I'll write a referral to a Dr Hokin. He's a young guy, pretty up with folks who've seen active duty, kind of his specialty."

The doctor injected Xander in the arm and handed a script for valium to Giles then rose to leave. Walking to the front door and just out of earshot of Xander the doctor turned to Giles. "I really think you should contact the psychiatrist today. If you tell Hokin I sent you and the circumstances he might even be able to fit you in this week."

"Yes, indeed. Thank you for all your help and candor. I'll do what I can." He shook the young man's hand and the doctor departed.

Two days later Xander was seated outside Dr Hokin's office looking miserable, picking at a loose cotton on his light summer sweater and staring at nothing in particular. Giles was worried again as, since his panic attack Xander had not said more than three words in a row, eaten nothing, and had obviously not slept more than a few hours, even then crying out in his sleep tp the point Giles himself was feeling rather stressed.

Xander had returned from Africa obviously thin, but now was positively haggard and had been wandering Giles' small back garden incessantly during the day for the past two, apparently trying to find some balance. None seemed to come and the shaking was still apparent.

Admitted to Dr Hokin's rooms he was ushered in to a warm modern style consulting room and invited to sit.

Dr Hokin with his long hair pulled back in a ponytail and wide Hollywood smile did not immediately put Xander at ease, but in the ensuing hour, as the ex-Scoobie and recently returned Watcher answered all manner of questions, he eventually relaxed, his shaking hands stilling for a moment or two before the crux of the matter was tackled head on.

"So… are you sleeping?"

"Well, yeah. Not always at once."

"Meaning?"

"I wake up… but everyone does that… you know to pee."

"And you remember what wakes you?"

"No! Yes! And No… sort of. Giles says I call out and cry, but I don't really remember."

" How much sleep do you get – you know… straight through before you have to 'get up'?"

"Two maybe three hours."

"So how much sleep do you get in a day?

"I figure four is OK and six a bonus. Why?"

"No matter, Xander do you wake up to noise or movement in the house where you reside?"

"Well of course! Doesn't everyone… I mean if there's a burglar or…"

How long have your sleep patterns been disturbed… and by that I mean compromising, giving headaches or exhaustive feelings?"

"I…. Forever." Xander slumped down into his chair at the last admission. It was as if a balloon that had held him just above water had burst and much to his shame, he covered his face with his hands and cried.

Dr Hokin said nothing until he calmed, handed him the tissue box then made a suggestion that caused Xander's heart to skip several beats. "I really think you would benefit from a short stay in the Delmont. It's a private hospital, you'll have your own room and en suite. Just until your sleep is sorted, and we can sort some antianxiety and anti depressants while under supervision. I'm fairly sure there's a bed coming up tomorrow or the next day."

Xander sat stock still for a moment then stated flatly, "So I am officially insane. Just… please, can I talk to Giles because if you guys are going to do something that involves being strapped down or, I don't know, bars? There's gonna have to be a court order."

Dr Hokin simply smiled and handed Xander a card. "Mr Harris, the Council of Watchers is rully insured for their employees sp upir stay will be in our private facility. You can sign yourself out at any time."

Giles delivered him to the door two days later, Xander signed his name in a rather shakey hand, and he was directed to his new abode for the next four or so weeks.

And strangely enough, despite all his worry about stigma or horror stories of mental hospitals of bygone eras, he relaxed on the first night after sleeping meds prescribed by his doctor (the first of seven days of sleeping tablets as agreed to), and the second sleeping a fitful ten hours without worry of attack or dire consequences for charges. Dreamless and comfortable, and utterly surprised, he realized on the second morning that he had almost missed breakfast sleeping twelve hours straight. Xander nodded to the male nurse on his wing and headed to consume a hearty cooked breakfast before confronting his first day of official 'therapy' sessions.

Signing up for art therapy and a more worrying stress understanding and management session before lunch, he still felt relaxed for the first time in what seemed like… forever. Still he knew, he was in a private hospital, the people around him were struggling with their own 'demons', he just hoped his would be found to be neuro-chemical rather than 'real' insanity.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Swan Lake

Author: josie_h

Archived at:

. ?user=rngrdead

Pairing: Xander/Spike

Rating: Mature Audiences – for content and themes

Summary: Xander has PTSD after rescuing one too many slayers. Spike is recovering (sort of) after the battle with W&H. Fate may have it they eventually find each other - she's funny that way.

Spoilers: Sometime in early season five – or possibly late six BtVS.

Warnings: M/M – if you don't like boys together, don't play here!

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters nor make any money from stories etc, and bow down to their original creators Joss, et al., plus all the wonderful online writers who continue to give the Buffy/Angel verse characters life.

lj-cut text=""Click" here="here" for="for"

PART 5

Xander's life fell into a rather set pattern after coming to terms with the routine of the hospital, though he was still rather 'miffed' that he could not lock his own door due to the night nurses (male and female) being required to check on him several times a night apparently.

His room was much in the fashion of a classy hotel room – but for the single bed – the en suite ample and it was serviced daily. A small alcove sported a desk and window overlooking a pleasant garden and had sun in the afternoon. Willow had supplied him with a laptop computer, and though internet was not available, he was able to read from the many books she had loaded on for him, listen to music, watch movies, and do something he thought he would never undertake post high school, write.

In the beginning it was just random thoughts on a document, but as the days passed he began to compose somewhat of a journal of his travels, trying to remember places and people from his past in minute detail. It was a healing process of sorts, though he still avoided the harsher realities of his experiences.

He was always up and showered by the time the morning call for breakfast came, greeting Charles with a genuine smile on the fifth day, before padding down the long corridor to the dining room.

Breakfast started at 7.30am and finished at 9, though the 'perpetually confused' members of their exclusive club tended to wander in just after the kitchen closed, much to the cook's chagrin. They were always fed and given the same speech about arriving on time complete with stern looks and promises that this was the 'last time'.

He avoided most of his fellow patients for the first two days, but after art therapy on day three, began to talk to a rather portly gent who sported a stiff back brace and suffered from chronic back pain due to an injury incurred when a rather violent attack on his clothing shop saw him defend a young worker against thieves and saw him tossed down a set of stairs. Kevin apparently checked himself in a couple of times a year for pain management and 'to give the missus a break', though Xander came to the conclusion that it was rather the other way around.

Dr Hokin visited each afternoon, and despite Xander's efforts to the contrary, managed to have him admit to some of the horrors of his time in Africa, his early home life and the devastation that led to his loss of an eye (carefully edited) and the consequent demise of Sunnydale (again with details of vampires witches etc deliberately omitted). For the first time since what seemed like a lifetime ago, he allowed himself to grieve for his parents, and Anya, and Spike, and the many others he had witnessed passing in the event.

In one particularly harrowing session, he admitted his feelings of powerlessness over circumstance, his thoughts of impotence in the face of 'unspeakable odds' and his lack of ability to save the people he was charged with protecting. Dr Hokin had taken notes, made some suggestions and recommended that he take his time before deciding to 'check out'. And after a week of 'lockdown', recommended that Xander join the small group of patients who were allowed to attend the local pool and fitness center.

Despite his trepidation, he was still appreciative when Giles delivered his swimming gear, and from the moment he dived in to the warm water, he felt that life just might improve. He hadn't really swum since high school, not for recreation at least, though there had been several times when he had been forced to make an escape via the aquatic route during his time rounding up new slayers. After initially experiencing dismay at his lack of condition, three days into the new routine he simply pedaled up and down with an easy freestyle and genuinely enjoyed the feeling of exercising 'for the heck of it'.

So that became the pattern. Breakfast and morning meds, group therapy, lunch, afternoon at the aquatic center, dinner, chat with his doctor, evening meds, write, then bed… and repeat. Giles visited twice, once to bring in his fitness gear, and the second as a courtesy. Other than that, he was left to his daily happenings and began to heal, a little at a time.

Spike would never admit it aloud, but the drive north with Connor was rather fun.

For a start, the boy was genuinely friendly, intelligent and a willing and (as it turned out) a witty conversationalist.

Spike was still chuckling and staring out the passenger side window after Connor's rather terrible attempt to imitate Spike's accent.

"Oh come on! It wasn't that bad!"

"Little more coaching and around ten years of proper practice mate, you might just 'ave it down." Spike punched the driver lightly in the arm and grinned in his direction as Connor tried his best to look annoyed.

"Alright, you do American SoCal then… if you can."

"Ah let's see…" Spike paused for effect whilst trying rather desperately to think of the correct terminology to suit the accent.

"OK how's this?" then in a falsetto voice said, "OMG I cannot believe you're wearing that. You do realize that halter tops that colour are **so** last year."

Connor roared laughing and almost changed lanes by mistake before offering an apology, "Geez Spike, if I knew you did 'little sister speak' I would not have started this!"

Spike grinned and pushed his right arm out of the open window to catch the draft of the car as they sped along the I5, still wondering at his immunity to the sun. "Just as well then mate, figure if I've gotta meet your nearest an' dearest afore we hit campus, might as well give it a go. Anyways, was taught by the best. Slayers little sis used to spend a fair bit of time with me before…"

Spike cut off suddenly, and Connor spared a sideways glance, seeing in a short moment the pang of pain wash across handsome features, so he quickly shifted the subject.

"Mum and Dad will just love to get to know you I'm sure."

"That right? So what've you told 'em? That I'm a dashing 150+ year old vampire, who's a relative of sorts and who's saved the world a time or two?"

It was Connor's turn to scoff, "Yeah right, not. I told them you are a Post Doc student in Law History, and before you ask, Matti told me about your studies, well a bit. Anyways I figured, you are here to look at the American legal system and doing some tutoring on the side. Oh, and that you write poetry as a hobby."

"Bloody hell!"

"What?"

"This mean I have to invest in a brown swede patched jacket, an' a pith helmet or sommit? Bugger that!"

"Spike… geez… Just?! I know who you are, and what you are, and kind of get that you are a whole lot more, especially intellectually. Just play along… please? Remember why we're stopping in?"

Spike looked a little contrite (and somewhat pleased) after the outburst, and muttered a quiet, "No worries mate. I'll give it me best."

A few hours later they pulled up to the front of a pretty double story home in Fremont, in a leafy suburb that was bordered by Lake Elizabeth.

Spike would never admit to being nervous, but still brushed himself down as he departed the small RV and wished that his 'upgrade' had come with the ability to check in a mirror.

Connor strode up the path with a confidence and familiarity that Spike did not share, the vampire hanging back, hoping he would be found an acceptable candidate for the O'Neill's son's venture into independent living 'out of digs'. He need not have worried.

Connor's adoptive mother was at the open front door before her son even made it to the bottom step of the porch. The woman reminding Spike instantly of Joyce Summers with associated easy smile and pleasant demeanor that promised a warm welcome.

Connor immediately fell into a hearty hug then turned to introduce the interloper. "Mum, this is S…William, the guy I met in L.A. that I told you about."

Warm hazel eyes were turned on Spike as he too made his way up the stairs. "So lovely to meet you William. Connor has told us all about you. I'm so glad you boys could stop in while you do your house hunting. And you really must stay until you're all settled. I'm so glad Connor has decided to… well it doesn't matter at the moment… come in… Come in!"

Spike, to his credit, took the offered hand but rather than shaking it, gave it a genteel kiss on the back followed by "Charmed Mrs O'Neill. And thank you so much for the welcome."

In the ensuing four days it took for Spike and Connor to find new lodgings near(ish) to Stanford, Connor was amazed at how easily Spike was incorporated into their house, and a little jealous of all the attention his sisters seemed to pay their unexpected guest, particularly when it came to the number of girlfriends who happened to 'drop by' in the two afternoons they were actually at home.

His sisters (to their credit) were rather protective of their brother's new friend, making sure he always had an exit planned as a seemingly endless number of female lashes were batted in his direction over glasses of iced tea or simply across a room.

Finally Spike took matters into his own hand admitting, apparently embarrassed that he was in fact 'gay', and had **no** designs on the brother Connor as he, Spike, was but temporarily parted from the love of his life due to work commitments. It was an embellishment of the truth to be sure, but seemed to quell the tide of young women apparently determined to win his heart. It didn't stop Connor's youngest sister Claire from all but begging Spike to accompany her to the Homecoming Ball at her high school. He begged off (backed by Connor's mother) on the grounds that he was far too old, promptly suggesting a number of prospective beaus more suited to the task.

Though she pouted at the time, the handsome captain of the swim team eventually came to the party and Spike was afforded a reprieve.

The trip back to the coven was odd after the five weeks of safety in a place that Xander had come to think of home, the Delmont, but it had to happen eventually. In that place he had found his high school physical form (severe loss of weight and associated adult construction musculature notwithstanding), had a schedule he knew was important to keep, had rediscovered his love of woodwork, and to continue writing, though the subject matter was becoming something he would rather not share - other than anonymously online to a random writers' group which he had learned of whilst he was 'convalescing' from Justin, a rather intense young man with jet black hair, effeminate features and a penchant for spitting into the nearest bush whenever anyone mentioned their mother.

And despite, or perhaps because of, Justin's enthusiasm that he should post anything he wrote, Xander found he actually enjoyed the feedback, and so began his venture into the world of fantasy. Although for him it was autobiographical for the most part.

He was given a space in the coven workshop to create with wood and when not there took himself to his room to write. But Giles still worried on a number of levels.

Xander was certainly 'better', but Giles still remembered the big hearted, open boy from Sunnydale and struggled with the quiet, withdrawn man, though no longer feared the man might take his own life as two of Giles' peers had during his university days. It did not stop him worrying for Xander's future however, and there was no way Giles could imagine him going back into the field without disastrous repercussions.

Xander attended the outpatient program at the Delmont twice a week and saw Dr Hokin every month, took his medication and tried hard to fit back into life at Council headquarters, but he felt directionless and useless on the whole. Who really wanted a one eyed, emotionally damaged 'nutter' in their lives longer term. He had no formal training, just a whole lot of experiences. He'd been out of the construction business since leaving Sunnydale, so even something he had prided himself as being good at in years past was no longer available. He voiced his worry in several of the group therapy sessions and to Dr Hokin. Eventually the suggestion that he try his hand at a woodwork course being run at a local arts and crafts center provided a focus and Giles organized some tools and a small workshop at Council headquarters.

A month after establishing the workshop, Giles thought Xander was doing a lot better particularly as he seemed to be taking a keen interest in his woodwork and continued to write. But when Willow visited for the first time since Xander's stay in hospital, Giles was confronted by a tearful witch and realized that he had perhaps simply become used to the changed man.

"He's not the same person Giles… it's like he's lost himself! And he's so thin!"

"My dear he's put on some weight since before hospital, but I confess he eats only if I cook and put it in front of him. I fear that he often goes the whole day without more than a small meal at night if he's in his workshop. The days he attends the clinic I know he at least gets morning tea and lunch."

"When I asked him about friends he just shrugged and kept on sanding the table top he's working on." Willow blew her nose and wiped away tears before continuing, "What can we do? We have to do something! Maybe there's a spell that would help?"

Giles took Willow's small hand in his, "No Willow. No spell. He has to heal on his own and it will be a long journey. We simply need to be there to support him when he needs it. As Dr Hokin and all his therapists keep saying PTSD is not a simple fix and even the professionals say it is not a single solution that will help but a combination. They are doing their best and so must we, the rest is up to Xander."

Mid afternoon post Willow's visit he found Xander sitting in a darkened bedroom staring at himself in a mirror apparently blank. He turned the light on and the brunette jumped to standing and swung around with fright.

"Are you alright, dear fellow?"

"Fine, I'm… yeah I guess I'm fine. The mirror is wonky though." Giles nodded at the strange comment, "I see. Well I'm about to make tea, would you like a slice of apple cake with it Meredith my secretary's specialty"

"No just a black tea would be fine… just a bit weaker than last time."

"Indeed. Are you coming down?"

"Yeah, be there in a minute. Just need a shower." Giles was about to point out that Xander had already showered that day but thought better of it.

"Right I'll see you in ten then."

Xander grabbed the towel from where it hung by the heater, slung it over his shoulder and made his way down the hall in the opposite direction to Giles.

Giles woke suddenly around 3am the next morning to agonizing screaming from Xander's room down the hall. Grabbing his old robe from behind the door and flinging it on he raced to the younger man's door and burst inside flicking the light on as he went.

Xander was curled up in a ball in the corner of his room arms over his head as if under attack intermittently crying out and sobbing. Giles squatted down beside him and gentled away resistant arms. When Xander scrambled away and jammed himself between his dresser and the bed, Giles followed this time speaking to him as though to a frightened child, "Xander… Xander… It's just me, Giles… It's just me… Xander you're safe… Your safe here…"

After a long minute the young man looked up, staring at Giles with a wild look of terror in his eye and blood from a nasty gash on his forehead dripping into the empty socket of the other. Giles took both Xander's hands in his and said quietly, "What's happening son? What are you seeing? Xander it's me Giles, can you tell me what's wrong?"

Xander gave a hitched sob and whispered, "They just keep dying… all just ripped apart and dead… bloodied and all dead… and I can't help… can't reach…" He started to hyperventilate and shake violently then let out a blood curdling scream, followed by "No… **No**! I can't breathe… I can't… help me! I'm disappearing… I'm disappearing… I can't breath and I'll be gone… just like them… gone… gone…"

Giles grabbed him by the shoulders and with a strength borne of desperation pulled the bigger man into his lap and enveloped him in a tight hug and simply held on, repeating over and over, "You're here Xander, you're here and you're safe."

Eventually the shaking subsided somewhat and Xander went quiet, but for the occasional sob.

Giles gentled him up until he could sit on the bed and wrapped him in a comforter, and sat next to him rubbing small circles on his back. "I'll get you some mirtazapine OK? Later we'll ring Dr Hokin OK? I'll only be a minute, will you be OK if I do that?"

Xander gave a single nod and pulled the comforter tighter.

True to his word Giles collected Xander's drugs and a glass of water juggling that and the phone he returned to Xander's room as quickly as possible. Rather than ringing Dr Hokin's rooms he called the hospital and spoke to a member of their CAT team. After a few pointed questions, the advice was that a bed was available, so he should bring the boy in the next morning and they would contact his doctor on his emergency number immediately.

At least Xander seemed happy at that, knew where he was going and why.

He was welcomed easily by a nurse he knew and ushered to a different wing to that he had stayed in previously, but the rooms were much the same.

Giles had carefully packed his laptop and basic clothing, intent upon visiting the following day with anything else necessary. His drugs were checked in and Xander left sitting on his bed still shaky and staring into space but at least somewhat calm, or at least resigned, regards what was to happen next.

All settled, he trained his one good eye on Giles and stated in a flat tone, "It's OK Giles, go home. I'll be fine now. Second home and all that apparently…"

The old Watcher looked rather pained by the despondent tone, but still managed a forced cheerful, "Right then, I'll let the Art Center know you'll be missing for a week or two."

"Yeah, taa… I finished the table top at least."

"Indeed you did Xander, and it's beautiful… indeed you did… Well, I'll leave you to it. Your computer is plugged in on the desk if you want to…."

He barely heard the "Yeah, whatever," as the brunette curled into a ball and faced away from Giles as the Watcher departed. It would be four hours before Dr Hokin was available for a consultation, but at least Giles felt that the troubled brunette would be well cared for (again).

A week later, Xander had fallen back into the pattern that was life at the hospital after the initial shame he felt at having to return so soon, but there were others there that remembered him. The staff were understanding and helpful, the therapists reassuring, and some of the inpatients genuinely welcoming. It wasn't home, it wasn't permanent, nor was it ideal, but it was a reprieve. His drugs were changed and he slept dreamlessly for the most part as a consequence. There was no workshop, but he did return to his art and his writing pace increased.

/lj-cut


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Swan Lake

Author: josie_h

Archived at:

. ?user=rngrdead

Pairing: Xander/Spike

Rating: Mature Audiences – for content and themes

Summary: Xander has PTSD after rescuing one too many slayers. Spike is recovering (sort of) after the battle with W&H. Fate may have it they eventually find each other - she's funny that way.

Spoilers: Sometime in early season five – or possibly late six BtVS.

Warnings: M/M – if you don't like boys together, don't play here!

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters nor make any money from stories etc, and bow down to their original creators Joss, et al., plus all the wonderful online writers who continue to give the Buffy/Angel verse characters life.

Part 6

On the second week of his stay, Xander was feeling decidedly better once more. It was early evening just after dinner and he was again writing at his small desk, intermittently gazing out the window that this time faced only toward a quiet street. Dr Hokin was a little late but Xander was unworried. His latest story was about a certain blonde vampire, one he had come to respect, like even there at the end of Sunnydale, one whose good looks were undeniable, presence bigger than life, and loyalty to those he protected (Xander included) demonstrated time and again.

Xander rubbed his good eye, the one Spike had saved then tried again to describe what he imagined Spike would have been like as a human. After writing the same paragraph three times, each time feeling it was inadequate, he decided more research into Victorian England would perhaps assist.

He had only a vague idea of the lifestyle of a middle class gent of the era, and most of that via period pieces on television and the occasional movie. He already had notes jotted further down, memories of discussions with Spike about his past, anything he could recall about Spike's 'softer side', snippets from Dawn and Buffy, and his own ideas regards a storyline. It was not really an attempt to write a biography, just a baseline from which to start. He'd attempted a similar story for Anya, but ultimately abandoned it after only three chapters after realizing how rather inadequately he truly knew his now dead former fiancée.

A quiet knock on the door signaled the arrival of his psychiatrist. He hit save and stood.

"Evening Xander. How are we today?"

"Fine I guess."

Dr Hokin dragged the guest chair closer to the window and sat down. Xander turned his chair to face the doctor and did likewise. "Same story?"

"No, kind of had writer's block and… anyway. It's only a draft. I kind of need to do some research for this one, so I'll kind of have to wait until I can get onto the net."

"Hmmm. Have you been sleeping since we stopped the Sonata pills?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Dreams?"

Xander snorted, "Could say that…"

"So themes still the same?"

"If you're talking death and mayhem, less, or at least not real memories… some falling from things - buildings that sort of stuff. A weird one of flying where I couldn't seem to get down no matter how hard I tried, the rest I just don't really… they're too confusing."

"I wouldn't worry too much if they are confusing. If you get any emotion or theme from them you might still find them informative. Try to write down anything you remember straight after you wake. We can talk through them when I visit again Friday if you like."

"I'll try."

Xander stared down at his hands for a minute, frowned then said in a small voice, "I kind of want to ask you something… something kind of odd."

Hokin smiled, in all their sessions it was the first time Xander had really ventured a question without prompting, it was progress of sorts. "Of course, go ahead."

"Well, it's kind of… I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror yesterday, I had the light off, 'cause… anyway I, kind of… I just kind of disappeared… not I mean, literally. There was still someone there but it just didn't… I sort of couldn't recognize me… as me… I was just gone, someone else was there not me… I'm not making any sense, don't worry about it."

Dr Hokin frowned just a little then schooled his features back to neutral. "Has it happened before?"

"Yeah, but not for as long. Used to happen a bit when I was… away… in the field. Figured it was just 'cause I was by myself a lot and too much in my head. So it can't be that right?"

"Did you feel any particular emotion? At the time, or after?"

The doctor noted Xander begin to nervously roll and unroll his the hem of his sweatshirt as his patient stared at the floor again.

Answering almost in a whisper, "Lost, alone, not there, nowhere… I kind of lifted my hand up, but it wasn't mine… I dunno really… then I kind of came back… And I kind of felt… um… sick, afraid that… Well what if it really happens and I can't come back? What then? It's crazy I know… but I want to be here, and *Me* not some freak nutcase who keeps scaring his friends, can't recognize himself, and is no good to anyone… and I'm, you know… drugs and it's better… But it's always me but maybe not, the one with the responsibility, the one who gets them killed because I'm not fast enough or smart enough… and they die not me… but if I'm not there anymore then… that's why I guess…" He had raised his voice gradually as he tried his best to explain… but trailed off at the last part, "I guess that's why I'm here and they're… not… anymore. I just… so many times it should have been me, and now I'm just a guy who needs a certificate to say he's sane…" He trailed off.

Midway speech, tears began streaming down Xander's cheeks from his good eye, and eventually oozed from the damaged tear duct of the scarred other as he finished.

Dr Hokin waited for the brunette to compose himself, quietly reaching for the tissue box on the desk and passing the man a couple, and was given a nod for his trouble.

"Xander, your responses are far from unusual to a combat situation, or any trauma per se, but I would like you to report if you have the sense of disassociation from yourself again. It would help you to understand and perhaps even resolve some of the underlying issues, to give the flashbacks causing you to panic some sort of context, a full storyline as it were, and may well aid in your recovery."

After composing himself and listening, Xander nodded contritely, though not looking particularly convinced as he angled his eyes up to meet Jacob Hokin's.

"So what now?"

"Now you stay for a little longer, keep up your writing, and when you return home, your woodwork, and we start to help you truly heal, to bring you to a sense of wholeness again. I won't promise it will be easy or fix everything… just perhaps it will give you a starting base, yes?"

Xander felt empty and unsure but tried to meet his doctor's eyes, to gauge the truth in the man's words, then managed a small, "Yeah… OK."

"Now I'm going to suggest you have another week here, we see how you are travelling and then discuss a release date you feel comfortable with."

Xander let out a small sigh of relief and nodded once. The prospect of going home to the Watchers' Council seemed an insurmountable task at the moment, but he knew he could not stay at the Delmont indefinitely, it was a security of sorts and one he needed right now.

"Now, I am going to leave you with some homework for Friday. Try to note down your dreams, document any more episodes of the kind you just described and do continue your exercise. I am also going to leave a prescription for meds on demand with the night nurse. I need not tell you that they are a last resort, but I do want you to feel confident that your sleep patterns are stable before you sign out. Agreed?"

The brunette mumbled his agreement, then answered more clearly, "Yeah… sure."

The doctor stood to leave, "Right. Well I must be off, I'm afraid my partner will be terribly miffed if I don't get home before 7.30 tonight, we've tickets to some live play or other."

"Yeah… well… thanks… I, um… thanks."

Dr Hokin smiled and departed the room. Xander slowly turned his chair back to the desk, contemplated writing some more, then decided a hot chocolate and mindless television in the common lounge was preferable.

Spike and Connor's new abode was a relatively small but comfortable apartment in a back street within walking distance of Stanford, which was a blessing as far as Connor was concerned having become used to not having to worry about lengthy time in traffic or parking whilst living at the fraternity house on campus.

Spike was easy company, generally sleeping until well after his younger 'sibling' had departed, rising to watch some daytime television, play house boy to a degree and as the season changed to a sunny spring took to sitting on their small balcony reading on an iPad Connor had given him having recently upgraded to a more powerful laptop. Lately, if Connor had a late start, he would accompany the young man to the university and had taken to reading in the main Green Library, after Connor had managed to obtain him a library pass on the grounds he was his brother from England and graduate of Oxford (both technically true).

The Lane Reading room made a pleasant change from the apartment, and several of the library staff more than happy to help him search out some more obscure texts, even suggesting he visit the Classics Library and the Crown Law Library after establishing his broad interests.

Spike usually sported his trademark black jeans, T-shirt and his Doc Martin boots, but his duster that had been badly damaged in the final battle, was absent. Despite being repaired and cleaned, it simply hung in the wardrobe for old time's sake. Now he wore a short, collarless, black biker jacket or very occasionally a knit sweater. He still sported short blonde curls, often leaving them softer with product rather than gel and perhaps better described as Nordic pale blonde rather than electric white.

Connor was surprised as to how easily Spike (aka: William) blended in to the university life, if only a few times a week. There was no pretense, yet he inevitably (at least of late) had at least two or three 'in tow' if ever he and Spike met for lunch. Whether they were library staff, post docs or young under graduates of literature seemed of little consequence.

And Spike (to his own surprise) reveled in it. Realizing belatedly that some of the joy was to do with his ability to enjoy the lady Sun.

The Stanford 'Cafe' became his occasional haunt. He affected an air of nonchalance and consequently, if he happened to 'skim' from one or two satisfied undergrads in 'the mens' it was a bonus. He knew how to thrall, not as well as his Drusilla, but enough that their odd marks on the neck, when felt by a passing stroke of the hand, sent a shiver of excitement straight to their groin. And many returned to engage the 'fascinating young academic from overseas' more than once.

By the summer break he had quite a following of undergraduates wanting to engage him in dialogue regards history, philosophy and all things European. Initially it was a couple of Connor's friends who he had met at their apartment once or twice, but later groups of young women and men were drawn to the handsome blonde 'academic' from England who had an easy smile and was willing to debate topics they otherwise found rather dull, effortlessly adding a lively narrative to any discussion pertaining to the old cities of Europe, various wars, the English legal system and sometimes even the supernatural.

He and Connor sparred nightly, their fights increasingly faster and harder each time, and, of late, went out at night to 'patrol'. An innocent enough word if it pertained to simply wandering the streets around their abode, but so much more when two progeny of the 'Scourge of Europe' was concerned. They rid the city of many low life demons, vampire nests, and all besides, and 'had a right ol' time of it' according to Spike.

Connor was as vicious and swift to the kill as Spike, they had the habit of fighting back to back when outnumbered. It was thrilling for both individuals, more often than not both men finishing off their opposition and grinning maniacally at each other afterward almost disappointed that the tussle was over.

Six months later, as Connor embarked on his MBA (on scholarship again having passed with no less than nothing under a 'High Distinction'), the younger Aurelian found himself surrounded by the University's elite early one evening at their apartment, and watched with a sense of awe as Spike held his own in a discussion related to China in the era of the Boxer Rebellion and the social upheaval that had caused the same. It was the first of many soirees and the beginning of Spike's desire to return to England at least for a time.


End file.
